


Heavy, Like Gravity

by Wynn



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Newly uploaded to AO3, Older Fic, Season/Series 01, a little sexual content, some naughty language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynn/pseuds/Wynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five drabbles and ficlets written during Season 1 as Logan and Veronica's relationship began to change. A mixture of points of view, most third person, one first person. Excerpt:</p><p>
  <em>Logan remembers the first dirty thought he ever had about Veronica Mars. It was the day after she cut her hair. He said something nasty to her and for the first time she said something nasty back to him. He woke up the next morning with a boner like steel and a head full of Veronica. He hated her for that, for invading that place in his head reserved only for Lilly</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strength in Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> More fic uploading due to renewed VM love caused by all the lovely movie updates and a marathon of S1.

Strength in Numbers

“Good golly, Miss Ronnie. What the hell happened to your hair? Close encounter with a weed whacker?”

Logan expects no response. In the three months, two weeks, and five days since the Lilly video hit the net under Keith Mars’ oh-so- _not_ careful watch, the three months, two weeks, and four days since Logan officially transferred Veronica from the friends to enemies column, the only responses to his taunting- no, to his punishment- have been tear-filled glances and tight-lipped silence.

Two things that had almost made Logan stop.

Stop the snide remarks. Stop the cruel confrontations.

Because Veronica had been his friend, his first after moving to Neptune. God, he remembers seeing her for the first time like it had been today. Not even yesterday with the night’s darkness and cool breezes to dull the memory. But today, just five scant minutes ago, the memory so crystal clear in his mind. It was his second day in Neptune- registration day at the local middle school. He remembers approaching the double front doors of Neptune Middle, remembers walking a respectable four and a half feet behind his mother because he was cool, damn it, remembers rounding the corner to the principal’s office and seeing her there in all her soccer glory. All long blonde hair lit by the late afternoon sun. All short shorts and knee socks. All California tanned goodness. She sent a shy glance and a welcoming smile his way, and he ambled over to say hello. Wow her with the Echolls charm.

Of course, all thoughts of macking on Mme. Mars vanished the instant she introduced him to Lilly Kane and Lilly’s sinful smirk. But Veronica remained his friend. Hell, Logan had _wanted_ her to be his friend, be a pure ray of sunshine-lit innocence in his crooked and corrupting world. 

So it hurt; it hurt him; it hurt the memory of who he used to be, the memory of who he and Veronica used to be before Lilly’s death, to hurt her like he did with his harsh words and harsher glances.

But he did it anyway.

The memory of Lilly’s broken and bloodied body hurt him more.

The knowledge that the memory of Lilly’s broken and bloodied body didn’t hurt Veronica enough, Veronica who had seen Lilly with her own damn eyes lying by the Kane’s pool, for her to admit that her father had been wrong in going after Jake Kane hurt Logan more than seeing those tear-filled glances and hearing those tight-lipped silences.

So Logan kept pushing. Kept picking at the wounds he knows she bears because someone has to stand up for Lilly and the Kanes. Because Lilly was her best friend and Duncan was her boyfriend. Because the Kane family deserved her loyalty and Veronica turned her back on them.

“I know how you Mars women love the bottle. You didn’t go snip, snip during a drunken late night bender, did you?”

But it’s hard. Pushing. Picking. Keeping up that constant stream of vitriol and viciousness against someone who used to be his friend. And in that place deep down inside where Logan stores everything he hasn’t let himself feel since Lilly’s death, he knows it’s getting harder. He knows that if Lilly were here right now to see him treating Veronica like this, like absolute shit, she’d give him the worst verbal smackdown of his life, cold clock him one upside the head, and then dump his sorry ass right there in front of the entire school. 

But Lilly’s not here.

And that’s the problem.

“No, wait, let me guess. You decided to pinch hit for the other team and needed an appropriately butch haircut to go along with it.”

Logan doesn’t expect a response, so he tries to steel himself for the tears and the silence. 

Logan doesn’t expect a response, so when he gets one, he’s more than a little surprised.

“I just took in a copy of your eighth grade picture. My stylist warned me that it looked a little gay. I guess she was right.”

He’s thankful.

Because it means that Veronica doesn’t have her sunshine or her innocence anymore and nobody should have that now that Lilly’s gone. It means that Veronica’s world is now like his; everything’s crooked and corrupt and there’s nothing left but nastiness and pain and a few harsh words for the right person across the way. It means that he won’t have to fight to keep everything he’s felt since Lilly’s death and Veronica’s betrayal inside anymore, that he won’t have to be pulled between loyalty to Lilly and fond remembrances of Veronica, that he won’t have to find the strength to face the tears and the silences and the fact that they’re Veronica’s, Veronica who used to be his friend, because, most of all, it means that Veronica can be strong enough for the both of them.

And for that, he’s thankful.  
* * *


	2. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica doesn't check up on Logan, even when she does. A "Ruskie Business" coda.

Need

The door is open. Careless. But then Veronica doesn’t think Logan has a lot to care about these days. She peeks her head in, and the room- the room is in shambles. She’s seen it disarrayed before, thoroughly searched for the missing poker winnings. But this. Utter destruction fueled by pure fury. And grief.

Lots of grief.

She spies Logan, asleep, stretched out facedown on a couch along the far wall. He’s still in his Risky attire, sunglasses askew on his head, white button-up wrinkled and slightly torn at the shoulder. A blue blanket rests bunched up around his waist.

She enters the room, one step, then another, like a deer inching into an open clearing, testing the air for danger, danger, Will Robinson. Or like an enemy venturing into foreign territory, running the risk of pain, torture, and death upon discovery. Because even though relations between her and Logan had improved somewhat, from open seething hostility to something bordering on civil, almost an understanding, a detente of sorts, she doubts very much he’d want her, especially her, to seem him like this.

Vulnerable.

Again.

But she has to know.

She stops four steps into the room, far enough to see. The TV is on and frozen on the screen is the footage- the bridge, the car, the water. The dark, plunging shape that may (or may not) be Mrs. Echolls.

Veronica understands his compulsive need to watch. She watched the Lilly video so many times she has a frame-by-frame imprint of it in her mind. She told herself it was to search for clues, for something her father and the entire Neptune sheriff’s department missed. That’s what she told herself.

But she lied.

Veronica understands, so she doesn’t try to steal the disc back.

Logan moves, but he doesn’t wake up. She wants to pull the blanket up, tuck it around his shoulders, smooth it over his back. But she doesn’t. She can’t. Lilly’s Veronica could. Could be at ease with those small, intimate gestures of caring and comfort. But not this Veronica. Her sharp edges would tear through the downy comfort, leaving nothing behind but feathery wisps of a useless gesture.

She turns to go; she has a plane to catch. One foot over the threshold and then she hears, “Are you checking up on me, Mars?”

His voice is thick and scratchy with sleep and liquor. Veronica looks back over her shoulder at him. He hasn’t moved; his crooked glasses still cover his eyes; and if he hadn’t spoken, she would have thought him asleep.

Had he ever been asleep?

“Well?”

_Was_ she checking up on him?

Yes.

“No.”

“Good. I don’t need a fucking babysitter. That’s what I have Trina for.” There’s no sharpness to his voice, no cutting vitriol, no aggressive hostility. None of the usual suspects usually reserved for her. There’s nothing.

She pretends she’s not worried.

Logan shifts again on the couch and says, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

She doesn’t.  
* * *

Three hours later her cell phone chirps as she waits in line for a rental car.

“Hello?”

Silence on the other end, but she can hear someone breathing, and her heart leaps at the thought that it might be Mom.

“Hello? Mo-?”

“Thanks.”

Logan. Logan calling her. Her brain stops, restarts, driven on by curiosity.

“For what?”

He doesn’t say anything, but she knows he’s still on the line. “Logan-?”

“For trying.”

And then he’s gone. The line shuffles one step forward, but she’s still standing still.  
* * *


	3. Heavy, Like Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like tipping over the edge of a roller coaster. Set post "Weapons of Class Destruction."

And it’s like tipping over the edge of a roller coaster. The bottom falls out of your stomach, your heart leaps into your throat, your body tightens, tenses, and you stop breathing as you wait, wait, wait for the rush, wait for the thrill, wait for the drop.

His kisses are like the wind, burning her skin red in the rush as they coast down, down, down her face, down her neck, down her arm. Her head spins as he spins her around, pressing her against the wall, pressing into her, heavy like gravity. She clutches his arms, braces herself for the drop, the drop, the spin, the twist, but he jerks her up in a corkscrew only to slide her back down his body instead. She falls backwards, flips upside down, and shoots back up, heart stopped, breath caught, as his hand travels down, down, down.

It’s a ride she can’t wait to start, that she doesn’t want to stop. She’s a junkie for the rush, for the crash and burn danger as they slingshot down the rails, full stop, no brakes, no restraint. She saw the warning signs before she got on, read the rules and checked them twice. But he stole her ticket like he’s stealing her heart and ushered her onto this ride with a glint in his eyes and a grin on his face. Now the sky’s beneath her feet and the ground’s above her head, and there’s no getting off until the ride is done.

But she’s only done once she’s gotten off, so she hangs on, head back, back arched until the heart jolting, breath snatching end.  
*


	4. The Snail and the Jackhammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica's thoughts after the Incident That Shall Not Be Thought Of at the Camelot Motel. Post "Weapons of Class Destruction."

The Snail and the Jackhammer

Okay.

Okay, breathe.

Breathe, Veronica. In and out. In and out. Nice and steady. Slow and steady. Like a snail. Yeah, just like a snail. Ignore that jackhammer thudding in your chest and the person that put it there and _just breathe_.

Shit. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. Just breathing leads to just thinking and thinking now is not an option. Maybe five minutes ago it was because then I wouldn’t have done what I did and therefore wouldn’t have anything to not think about right now. Well, except for how the hell I’m supposed to infiltrate the inner sanctum of a probable psychotic school bomber who has the hots for me. But only that. Nothing else. Certainly nothing related to kissing my school arch-nemesis on the balcony of the local dive motel like some twisted version of Romeo and Juliet.

Oh, god. What the hell was I thinking? Okay, I know exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking danger and gun and Logan coming to my rescue, my rescue, me, Veronica Mars, and punching the shit out of my presumed kidnapper. I was thinking friendly peck on the cheek, a thanks for the non-rescue and severe over-protectiveness. I was thinking- Okay. All right. I _wasn’t_ thinking. Because if I had been thinking, I would have realized that my supposed friendly peck on the cheek somehow morphed into a full fledged kiss and then the most intense make-out session of my entire life. If I was thinking, I would have stopped. Stopped well before I started. If I was thinking.

Which I wasn’t.

Why wasn’t I? I always think. I am a thinker. Wallace says I think enough for four people, but somehow at that particular moment I stopped thinking. And started kissing. But don’t think about that. Not thinking is the issue here, Veronica, not the kissing, so focus. Focus. Focus on the not thinking and not on the Logan kissage. 

Logan kissed me.

Logan Echolls kissed me, Veronica Mars. And not in any way that could be classified as a friendly peck on the cheek in a serious denial session. This was… this was…

Hot.

Hot and insistent and.

And desperate.

Like oxygen depriving desperate.

Breathe, Veronica, breathe. 

Okay, so I kissed Logan and Logan kissed me. Engaging in a serious session of denial won’t change those basic (hotdesperateinsistent) facts, so I’m not going to try. Instead I will- what? Hyperventilate some more? Real productive there, Mars. 

No, no more hyperventilating. I am the snail and not the jackhammer and will think this through logically. I kissed Logan. Logan kissed me.

Why?

Ah, the crux of the issue. Why? Why did I do what I did? Why oh why did I do what I did? And why did he do what he did? And why did he have to do it so damn well, too? 

Focus. Focus, Veronica, on the why. Why make with the kissing? Was it all because of the danger and the gun and the heart-pounding rescue? 

…possibly.

Possibly? _Possibly?_ Oh, god. Oh, god. Does this mean that it might be because of something other than the danger and the gun and the heart-pounding rescue? That I- that I _like_ Logan? Because I can’t. I can’t. I can’t like Logan Echolls.

No matter how good he kisses.

No. No. That doesn’t matter. Don’t think about that. Thinking is bad. Logan is bad. He’s Neptune’s obligatory psychotic jackass. He’s the bane of my high school existence. He’s the one that smashed in my headlights and ring-leaded the Ostracize Veronica Movement of 2004. He hates me. 

He hates me.

Doesn’t he?

Okay, so people who hate other people don’t normally go to their rescue, swooping in like some denim clad knight ready to save the damsel in distress. But that might have been some momentary blip on the radar. Maybe he hasn’t had much of a chance to get his violence on lately- no headlights to smash, no Weevils to fight- and so he seized this opportunity to unleash his inner Rocky and it had absolutely, positively nothing to do with me.

Yeah, right. It had nothing to do with me when he was sucking the oxygen straight from my lungs with those lips and that kiss and that look.

So, what? He doesn’t hate me? I don’t hate him? Does this mean- are we friends now? Friends who occasionally engage in hear-stopping, breath-snatching, brain-freezing kisses now and again? Because if that’s what friends do, Wallace and I have this BFF thing all wrong. Logan and Duncan, too. 

Whoa.

Logan and Duncan kissing.

…

Suddenly Logan and I kissing doesn’t seem so strange.

Hot and desperate and insistent, yes.

Very much wrong and against the natural order of things, yes.

But strange? Okay, yes, strange, too, but not the strangest kissing combination possible. And I guess that’s something. That has to be something because otherwise? I have nothing but questions with no answers and questions with Logan answers and questions with jackhammer answers and right now I need to be the snail.

So no more thinking, Mars. Not about that. You have a different obligatory psychotic probable school bombing jackass to capture. Time to get to work.  
*


	5. Tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan's thoughts on him and Veronica. Set a bit after "Hot Dogs."

Logan remembers the first dirty thought he ever had about Veronica Mars. It was the day after she cut her hair. He said something nasty to her and for the first time she said something nasty back to him. He woke up the next morning with a boner like steel and a head full of Veronica. He hated her for that, for invading that place in his head reserved only for Lilly, and he used that hate to jerk himself off, giving himself the first of many pulse pounding, eye crossing, body thrashing orgasms.

Logan’s had a lot of thoughts about Veronica since then, some of them dirty, most of them angry, a few regretful. More and more he’s thought of her like this, breathless and breaking and desperate for him. Not that he’d ever admit that to her. Or maybe he would. She’d give him a look, roll her Carolina blue eyes as she called him a pervert, and he’d have another thought of her to get him through the night. 

He’s tempted. Oh, god is he tempted. He once thought only Lilly could get him this hot and bothered, could get the blood pounding so hard in his head and his dick that he thought he would explode from all the pressure. But the sight of Veronica flushed and fiery against him, her sleek hair tangled in his hands, that wicked mouth of hers plumped red from kissing him makes Logan burn nuclear.

She slips a hand under his shirt and he presses her back against his car, tilting her head up to kiss her, deeper, slower, drawing her into a tango of teeth and tongues. Fingertips feather light glide across his cheek, and Logan pauses, stills, knocked flat by the delicate intimacy. He knows she’s as tangled up in him as he is in her, knows it by the way she says his name, knew it when she dumped the deputy but didn’t tell him about it for a month. Lilly would have sung it from the rooftops and made him grateful she was his. Only his. 

Lilly had passion but she never had need. Not like Veronica. Not like him.

He falls a little bit farther, falls back up to heaven from the hell he’s been living in for the past year and a half. Veronica pulls back, pulls away, pulls him toward her with a smile on her face that breaks his heart then puts it back together again.

“This is crazy,” she says.

“It is.”

Soft whispers in the warm night.

“As long as we both know that.”

“We do.”

She looks away and smiles and gives Logan a new thought about her for him to file away: that she stole his heart with a smile in the moonlight and he didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

He would have given it away for free.  
*


End file.
